


Tyndall Effect

by SoDoRoses (FairyChess)



Series: Metaphysical Determinism [3]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Being Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Fluff, Gray-Aromantic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Love at First Sight, M/M, Patton is mentioned briefly and not by name, Remus swears So Much its insane, True Love's Kiss, he also has an internal monologue like a flaming runaway train, stealth shrek references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23203318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyChess/pseuds/SoDoRoses
Summary: Remus Grimm and the quest to… woo (ick) the cute druid boy.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Deceit Sanders, hinted background pre-romantic royality
Series: Metaphysical Determinism [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668148
Comments: 50
Kudos: 447





	Tyndall Effect

**Author's Note:**

> the fandom: makes Aro!Remus headcanons  
> my gray-aro ass: It’s Free Real Estate
> 
> thank you to [@trivia-goddess](trivia-goddess.tumblr.com) for beta-reading this and commiserating with me about this dumb dumb boy whom i adore

“Remus,”

A grunt.

“ _Remus,_ ”

Remus raised one hand, middle finger extended, and got a cup to the head.

“Ree, you odious creature, get _up,_ ”

“Fuck oooooooff,” Remus groaned.

“What are you doing here anyway?” came his brother’s voice, and the clinking sounds that meant he was opening up the shop for the day, “You never came home, did you _sleep_ here?”

“What are you, a cop?” Remus grumbled.

“I don’t think it’s illegal to sleep in your own tattoo parlor, but what do we know about the law?”

Snorting, Remus finally sat up, wiping some sleep from his eyes and waving lazily in Roman’s direction.

“Just enough to not get caught,”

Roman grinned, tossing him a cereal bar.

“Right you are. Welcome back to the land of the living,”

“Ooh, necromancy,” Remus muttered absently, tearing at the wrapper, “Hey, how much do you think we’d have to ink up a corpse to resurrect it?”

“Too much to be worth it, definitely,” said Roman, wrinkling his nose, “The components alone would be outrageously expensive, not to mention the _quantity._ And, more importantly, _ew?”_

“What?” said Remus indignantly, “I’m being – you know. Environmentally conscious. We _could_ use an assistant, and like, recycling is a thing-”

“I think you don’t know how much a dead body costs,” said Roman, staring at him incredulously, “And a zombie assistant is _not_ worth the, oh, twenty years in prison we’d get for doing necromancy without a license?”

“But a zombie assistant would be so _cool,_ ”

Roman frowned at him. Remus just smiled back, cereal bar bits stuck in his teeth.

“Okay,” Roman conceded, rolling his eyes, “It would be a _little_ cool. Not ‘twenty years in prison’ cool, though,”

“Fair enough,” said Remus, shrugging, “How many today?”

He brushed the crumbs off himself as he stood crossing the room as Roman opened the day’s schedule.

“Two – well, four, for me. The afternoon appointment is three little ones, matching. You’ve got one, afternoon, same time as my group one. And you didn’t answer my question – why did you sleep in the shop? I assumed you were at a party or something, not crashing on our shitty waiting room sofa,”

Remus smacked his lips several times, going back over to the couch and shuffling through the sketch papers.

“Not sure,” he said, frowning, “I think I just passed out drawing,”

Some of the sketches had fallen onto the floor, and when Remus picked them up there was no form to them, just swirls of paint and barely-mixed color.

“Might’ve had a vision. Or two,” he admitted sheepishly.

Roman sighed, tossing another cereal bar at him.

“I’m making you a smoothie. You will drink it,”

“With hot sauce?”

“With _banana_. And oranges and yogurt and other healthy-vitamin-containing things,”

“Bo-ring,”

“Keep it up and I’ll make you a face mask laced with love spells-”

“ _Ewwwwww,_ ” Remus exclaimed, “You wouldn’t! I hate all that mushy-gushy, gooey shit, you know that, I don’t need strangers getting _ideas_ about- fucking flower arrangements,”

“Test me,” said Roman, pointing a threatening finger at him, “I dare you,”

Grumbling, Remus left it, resolving to sneak something actually _fun_ into the blender the next time he was close enough to one of _Roman’s_ smoothies.

“Here,” said Roman, several minutes later, shoving something disgustingly baby-pink into Remus’s hands, “Sugar, vitamins, protein. And for the love of all the Muses, _call_ me when you have visions, you dumpster fire,”

“I passed out, what do you want from me?”

Roman just wrinkled his mouth, looking pointedly at the smoothie.

Rolling his eyes, Remus begrudgingly downed as much of the thick liquid as he could in one go, trying not to gag at the somehow-bland-and-still-too-sweet taste and overly smooth texture of it.

“I am hydrated and… uh, nutritioned, whatever,” said Remus, “Leave me in peace,”

“I’m convinced I’m the sole thing keeping you alive,”

“You and spite,”

Rolling his eyes, Roman started puttering around the shop, rifling through the coolers and the cupboards as he started mixing the inks for his first tattoo of the day. Remus didn’t ask what it was – the art or the spell – half because neither one of them liked to be distracted halfway through ink-making and half because he didn’t really care.

Remus kept rifling through the sketches, ignoring Roman’s wince across the room as he stuffed the decent ones inelegantly between the pages of his sketchbook. The boring or sloppy-and-not-the-fun-way ones he tossed to the side for later; maybe he could make something usable out of them with a little effort.

The premonitions he spread out across the waiting room table. They were mostly just colors and shapes – pulling meaning out of them was a crapshoot, and Remus usually didn’t bother. He wouldn’t say he was jealous of Roman, who’s clairvoyance followed him in mirrors and crystals and the occasional puddle, actual pictures and none of this abstract half-nonsense, but just once Remus would like to not have to do a puzzle every time he cared enough to actually try and understand the damn things.

Why this particular vision was pick-pick-picking at him like a little kid with a nasty scab he had no idea. But it didn’t let up, even as Remus pushed and spun the papers around, his frown deepening into a confused, frustrated scowl.

He flipped one upside down, and suddenly those – those three fit. Scanning the rest, Remus painstakingly pushed the remaining paintings together, all of them at odd angles and some of them overlapping.

Cocking his head, Remus looked down at the complete picture in confusion.

“ _Shit,”_

Perking up, Remus leaned forward precariously on the couch.

“What?” he called, “Did you cut yourself open chopping something? Shut your hand in the autoclave? Heavy metal poisoning?”

“No, you demented trash can!” Roman shouted back. Remus followed his voice into the back – casting another baffled look at the strange omen behind him – to find Roman standing over their silver cauldron with a scowl and a slew of components across the tabletop.

“How much do you love me?”

“Not enough for whatever it is you’re about to say,”

“Liar,” said Roman, “Please?”

“I agree to nothing,” said Remus, jabbing a finger at him, “What do you want?”

“I don’t have time to do this over,” said Roman, “But I’m missing a component,”

“And you want me to play potion DoorDash,”

“ _Pleeeeease?_ ”

“ _Ugh_ , fine, I’ll get it,” groaned Remus, “What do you need?”

Roman gave him a sheepish smile.

“Fresh chamomile blossoms?”

Remus stared, absorbing that.

“No,”

“You already said you would!”

“Oh, come _on_ ,” said Remus, “I cannot believe you are using me as a go-between for your crush on annoying flower shop boy,”

“This again?” said Roman, rolling his eyes, “Look, being alloromantic does not mean I have a crush on _everyone_ who’s company I find pleasant. And _stop_ calling Devin annoying, you’ve never even _met_ him,”

“ _Flowers,_ Roman Noodle Arms,” said Remus gravely, ignoring the muttered _I have wonderful arms_ in favor of leaning ominously into his brother’s personal space.

“ _Flowers,_ ” he repeated, shuddering, “Soft and baby pink and delicate and _boring-”_

“Oh no,” said Roman, flat as a pane of glass, “Whatever will you do? You might burst into flame just from walking through the door,”

“I _wish_ ,” said Remus, “It’d be the most interesting thing to ever happen in that den of sun and snooze,”

“Doesn’t matter!” sang Roman, “You said you’d do it. Chamomile, delivery boy. And do _not_ be an ass to Devin, or I will kill you and use you for components,”

Remus feigned wiping a tear from his eye.

“You say the sweetest things, brother dear,”

“ _Flowers,_ ”

“I’m going, I’m going, don’t get your dick in a twist,”

“Disgusting,” Roman said cheerfully.

“Tis what I do best!” Remus called back, grabbing his leather jacket and heading to the front door.

Roman and Remus had a way of getting caught up in the twin banter, and Remus was pretty focused on not getting distracted on his quest to the flower shop, even if it was only across the street.

So really, it was no wonder he walked out the door having forgotten entirely about the vision spread across the waiting room table, vibrant and colorful, a semi-abstract bouquet of delicate, pink and yellow flowers.

—

The flower shop (Serpent Underneath, no wonder Roman loved it; they were both suckers for a Shakespeare reference, though The Scottish Play was more Remus’s speed) was exactly as bright and sunny and colorfully-lit inside as Remus had suspected it would be. So, just as nauseating, as well.

Wrinkling his nose, Remus went up to the counter, weaving between the tables laden with blossoms. He tapped the bell, leaning against the counter and drumming his fingers on the side of the register. There was a shuffling from the back, and a muttered curse too low to make out – footsteps, and then-

Remus abruptly felt like he’d been punched in the teeth.

He was certain he’d never seen a person so gorgeous in the entirety of his life. He was so short Remus thought he’d barely come up to his shoulder, with dark hair and skin the color of young acorns – one of his eyes was such a deep brown it nearly looked black, the other a bright, daffodil yellow with a slit pupil, and the left side of his face covered in glittering golden-green scales.

Heart-Stoppingly-Gorgeous-Flower-Shop-Boy tilted his head with a slightly bemused smile.

“You mustn’t be Remus,” he said, and oh, Muses, Remus was going to _fucking pass out._

“Uh,” said Remus stupidly, throat dry, “As, uh- as far as I know, I definitely am,”

Impossibly-Stunning-Maybe-A-Dryad-What-The-Hell-And-Fuck-Flower-Shop-Boy smiled and rolled his eyes.

He came up to the counter, holding out his hand and exposing his inner wrist.

Remus was going to die.

Raising a brow, Shockingly-Beautiful-Is-He-Even-Real-Flower-Shop-Boy gestured a little insistently with the hand.

Remus looked down.

There was a silver medical ID bracelet adorning the wrist – no. The symbol was a yellow Hecate’s wheel, not a red caduceus. Cursed then.

“You certainly shouldn’t get close enough to actually read it,”

Remus felt his face flush, leaning closer.

_Devin Drake. Firstborn curse. Speaks Inverse, Partially Serpentine._

“Got it,” said Remus, and he was genuinely stunned he didn’t sound as strangled and hysterical as he felt, “Always opposite day for you, huh Scales?”

That got him _both_ eyebrows raised, and, for the first time in twenty-five years Remus actually did wish he even _once_ in his life thought before he opened his mouth.

“… Bad joke,”

“It’s new, too,” said Devin dryly, “Never heard that one,”

Maybe Remus _should_ let Roman kill him and use him for components.

“… Can I help you with something?” said Devin after an embarrassingly long pause.

Remus blinked dumbly for several seconds.

“Oh. Oh! Right- uh, Roman – my brother-”

“Couldn’t have guessed,” said Devin, his mouth twitching into a faint smile, “You’re not identical twins or anything,”

Kill him, kill him, _kill him,_ set him on fire and scatter the ashes like cheap confetti, Sweet Singing _Melpomene_.

“Right,” Remus repeated, “Uh- chamomile? Uh, fresh. If you have it,”

“Are you asking if I sell chamomile flowers – one of the least common spell components in the world – at a magical flower shop?” said Devin, who was now grinning outright.

“… Yes,”

“Of course not,” said Devin, “I won’t be right back,”

He floated off into the tiered shelves of flower pots, and the second he was out of sight Remus set his forehead on the counter and just _barely_ did not scream like a banshee.

What the in thrice-damned shitting _fuck_ was that? Was he having a breakdown? Had he finally snapped like Roman always joked he was going to? Was he fucking _hexed?_

He felt like he’d swallowed a whole can of powdered light, like he’d been doused in Greek fire, like the first needle stroke of the first tattoo he’d ever gotten magnified times a _thousand_ and done in pearl dust ink.

Pearl dust. Fucking- rose water, and pink salt, and-

What. _What._

Did he have a _crush_ on Carved-From-Driftwood-And-Gold-Flower-Shop-Boy?

“Are you okay?”

Remus stood bolt upright like someone had stuck him with a pin, spinning on his heel and trying for a smile.

“Fine!” he said, manic and bright.

Devin had a flower pot in his hand, the white and yellow blossoms some of the most vibrant Remus had ever seen.

“… Well, not alright then,”

Devin didn’t ask him to elaborate on his clearly suspicious behavior, and Remus managed to get through the rest of the transaction without fucking exploding.

Ten minutes later he burst into the tattoo shop, ramming his shoulder painfully into the door frame when he made it to the back.

“Whoa, Ree, where’s the fire?”

“Do you have a crush on Devin?”

Roman frowned.

“I do not-”

“I’m _dead serious_ Roman, no- no- embarrassed, saying-you-don’t-so-I-don’t-make-fun-of-you bullshit, _do you have a crush on the pretty flower shop boy?_ ”

Roman stared.

“… Do I have a crush on _who?_ ”

Remus froze.

“On- on Devin-”

“That is _not_ what you said,” said Roman, stunned, “ _You_ just said ‘pretty flower shop boy,’”

“I did not,” Remus lied.

“You _did,_ ”

“Did not!”

“ _Did!_ ” said Roman, “Ree, bro, do _you_ have a crush on Devin?”

“ _No!_ ” shouted Remus petulantly, “Or- yes. Maybe. I don’t know!”

Roman narrowed his eyes at him.

“Okay, well – I can promise you, with zero bullshit, _I_ definitely _don’t_ ,”

Remus relaxed so quickly he thought his knees might give out.

“You’re _relieved!_ ” screeched Roman, “You _do_ like him, Apollo and the _Muses_ -”

“I’m gonna die,” said Remus, covering his burning face, “Oh, fuck and shit, I think I do. Is it always like this!? How are you not just _constantly screaming?_ ”

“Oh, you have got it _bad,_ ” said Roman, gobsmacked, “So bad. Are you blushing? I think you’re blushing,”

“I’m going to gut and debone you like a fucking trout,”

“Did you say anything to him?” demanded Roman, “Do you even know how to romantically flirt? Repeat your conversation, _verbatim,_ right now,”

“I can’t!” exclaimed Remus, “Ro, I’m not even sure I spoke _English_ to him, I was too distracted by my _lungs_ turning into _birthday party balloons_ full of maple _syrup_ in my _chest_ ,”

Roman launched across the room, snatching the bag of chamomile flowers from Remus’s hand and grabbing him by the shoulders. He steered Remus into a stool by the worktop, spilling the flowers.

“You’re damn well gonna _try_ ,” said Roman, “I potion, you gossip, lover boy. Start talking,”

—

Roman’s plan A, was, of course, “Teach Remus How To Woo Pretty Boys.”

Remus’s plan A was “Ignore Roman Completely Because Crush Or Not Remus Wasn’t Bringing _Anyone_ Heart-Shaped Anything, Fuck That.”

So the next time Remus went to the flower shop, he didn’t bring any gifts, heart-shaped or otherwise. Or any plan _besides_ “Ignore Roman,” because fuck plans.

Alright, so, the universe was going to throw Remus’s aro-spec ass a curve-ball. Fine. He’d been caught off guard, the first time, but it couldn’t be _that_ difficult, right?

Devin was at a table right by the door when Remus walked in, and Remus’s first thought was _Oh no, he got prettier,_ and his second was, _Abort, abort, ABORT._

“Terrible morning, Remus,” said Devin, “How can I help you?”

“Just how snaky are you?” blurted Remus.

Devin blinked.

“I always have an idea how to answer that question. How are we measuring ‘snakiness?’”

“Are the scales just on your face, or do they go all the way down?” asked Remus, regretting the question the moment he asked it, because the thought of those burnished, shimmering scales patterned down a chest or, Muses forbid, a _collarbone,_ made his whole face burn like he’d face-planted on a lit gas stove. He suspected the answer might kill him instantly.

Devin smiled coyly.

“Do you think I answer that question for people who haven’t at least bought me dinner?”

“What sort of dinner do you want?” said Remus reflexively.

Devin snorted inelegantly, and Remus could have sworn his heart had solidified into crystal in his chest.

“If I say ‘mice,’ what happens?” Devin giggled.

“I don’t think the pet store takes reservations,”

Devin burst into laughter, and Remus found himself grinning dopily at him as Devin braced himself on the display table.

“You’re not cute,” snickered Devin.

Remus had never, not once, possibly since the day he was born, been called _cute,_ and he definitely had never felt that particular blend of worms-in-his-stomach, maybe-being-shot-out-of-a-cannon feelings in _response_ to the word cute _,_ but hey, there was a first time for everything, wasn’t there?

“Roman didn’t say you were some kind of sentient trash can,” Devin continued, trailing off into a smile, “But you are definitely not just cute,”

“Roman lies about everything,”

Devin’s smile morphed into a grin, his head and shoulders shaking with laughter. For the third time (fifth? Tenth? Exactly how many times had Remus _already_ put his foot so far in his mouth he could tap dance on his liver?) Remus tried to think of literally anything to say. Normally he couldn’t _stop_ thinking, his thoughts tripping and tumbling over themselves in screaming circles but _apparently_ all it took was one pair of mismatched pretty eyes to blank him like a particularly bad concussion.

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” said Devin, “Are you the twin who always tells the truth, then?”

“More like I just say the first thing that pops into my head,” said Remus, smiling a little sheepishly, “Whether it’s true or not varies,”

“Of course not,” said Devin. His laughter had softened into just an amused little quirk of his mouth, and he gestured around him.

“ _Did_ you need something? Other than your brother, I get a lot of purely social calls,”

“I can’t imagine why,” said Remus, genuinely baffled. Who _wouldn’t_ want to spend every possible second in this maybe-an-angel’s presence?

Devin’s smile shifted slightly, just enough that if Remus hadn’t been devoting one thousand and one percent of his attention to Devin’s face he wouldn’t have noticed. A dimming of his eyes – the barest drop at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m a great conversationalist,” he said, voice a bit hollow, “Most people don’t find the…”

He waved the wrist that wore the ID bracelet.

“… too frustrating,”

“Lazy assholes,”

Devin snorted, and just like that the light was back, and Remus found himself near-deliriously fumbling for adjectives.

Incandescent? Luminous? Radiant? So impossibly gorgeous Remus kind of felt like he’d stuck his head in a microwave and his brain was being nuked?

Seeming to give up on getting an explanation out of Remus, Devin turned back to the flower pots. He had a little unrolled… well, it looked sort of like Remus’s artificing toolkit, except filled with tiny garden tools in different shades of wood, etched with runes. Remus found himself wandering over, looking over Devin’s shoulder – he was so _short_ and _cute_ and what the _fuck –_ as Devin prodded at the dirt.

“So- witch?” said Remus.

“Yes,” said Devin, “I’m not a druid,”

“Druid,” said Remus, “So, a plant witch,”

Devin rolled his eyes, his mouth wrinkling and his nose scrunching up in an adorable little thinking-face.

“… It isn’t hard to explain the difference,” he said slowly, “They’re aren’t mostly foundational. In the way the Sun is the same as the Moon, or a river is the same as the ocean,”

There was a furrow forming between his brows, and Remus resisted the urge to reach out and smooth it with his thumb – he’d had _numerous_ lessons drilled into his head, courtesy of Roman, as to how creepy his natural lack of a sense of personal space could come across.

“What’s this?” said Remus, patting a small bag next to the toolkit.

Devin winced.

“… Not bone meal,”

“Shut up, for real?” said Remus excitedly.

Devin reared back, startled.

“… No?”

“Flowers eat _bones?_ ”

Devin blinked at him in astonishment.

“Well- They do _eat_ , they have mouths, but it’s… not fertilizer. These aren’t tulips, and bone meal is terrible for root vegetables and bulb flowers,”

“Nobody told me flowers were _metal as fuck!_ ” Remus exclaimed, and Devin let out a stunned laugh.

“They- they don’t also like blood meal,” he said, watching Remus with a sort of wary excitement, “And- I don’t sometimes just bury some meat in the soil-”

“No fucking way,” said Remus, “I’m literally begging you to tell me more about man-eating plants,”

“Oh, I feed them _human meat,_ of course, I’m a serial killer-”

“But you _could,_ ” said Remus, “And the flowers would totally not care because they don’t have brains, they’d just- chow right down on some human remains no problem, that’s so fucking _cool,_ ”

Devin was _beaming_ , one hand pressed to his cheek, looking sort of stunned.

“There’s- there’s not a compost set-up in the back, a worm farm, do you want to-?”

“A _worm farm?_ ” Remus shrieked, “Holy shit. What is a worm farm? I need this information yesterday,”

“Don’t come here!” Devin said excitedly, dropping the tool in his hand in favor of grabbing Remus’s wrist, instantly rending Remus’s soul from his body in a paroxysm of gay emotions.

Said soul returned just in time for Devin to yank him into the back room of the flower shop and drop his hand, trotting over to what looked like a stack of plastic bins and starting up a steady stream of enthusiastic backwards-chatter.

Pulling up a stool, Remus plopped down and gave Devin his undivided attention, and decided that even if one too many of those concussion-inducing smiles _was_ going to do him in, he wasn’t going to miss a single one.

—

“What did Devin say now?”

Remus shoved his phone away from him, glaring at Roman as it slid down the workbench.

“What? Devin, who said anything about Devin?”

“You didn’t _have_ to say anything,” said Roman, clearly amused, “I keep expecting to see little bubble hearts floating around your head. You are, without an _ounce_ of exaggeration, the most hopelessly smitten bastard I’ve ever seen in my life,”

“Lies,” said Remus, “Lies and slander and defamation. _Smitten_ , I am not _smitten,_ what is this, a Disney movie? Are you gonna call me twitterpated next?”

“I just might,” said Roman, “Oh, speaking of Devin, I bought some of those blueberry good luck muffins from Apothe-café like he asked. Think you could take them over?”

Remus made a frustrated sigh, tapping at the tattoo gun with his screwdriver.

“You got the blueberry? He doesn’t like the blueberry, he likes the orange-cranberry,”

Roman didn’t say anything, and when the silence got pointedly long Remus looked up, only to find Roman grinning smugly at him.

Remus’s brain caught up to his mouth.

“I-! Shut up! That proves nothing!”

Roman burst into laughter.

“Oh, you _shitstain,_ did Devin even ask for muffins? _Are_ there muffins? Or were you just fucking with me?”

Roman wiped the corner of his eye, still snickering.

“No, he didn’t; yes, there are; and yes, I was,” said Roman, “There’s both kinds, in the box on the front desk,”

Remus found the box, retrieving the one burnt blueberry muffin Roman always asked them to include. There were three more blueberry, unburnt, and two orange-cranberry. Remus stood in the doorway – wouldn’t wanna contaminate any of the equipment – and gave Roman an unimpressed look.

“Like you have any room to talk,” said Remus.

Roman gave him an incredulous look.

“So, Devin _didn’t_ ask you to pick up any muffins?” said Remus, faux-innocently, “Meaning, you just up and decided we needed half a dozen good luck muffins for no reason?”

Roman turned pink.

“You- I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Or maybe not for no reason,” Remus continued, taking a bite of the muffin and continuing around a mouthful of pastry, “Maybe it has something to do with that pretty little kitchen witch with the curls and the big round glasses-”

“Shut up, shut up, shutting up!” shouted Roman, rushing over and shoving Remus toward the door, “Take your boyfriend his stupid muffins and stop being terrible for five seconds!”

“He’s not my-!”

“Oh, trust me, Ree,” said Roman, grabbing a brown sack out of a drawer and shoving it into Remus’s hands, “That’s a _when,_ not an _if,_ ”

—

Remus ignored the “Closed For Lunch” sign on the door to Serpent Underneath, smiling when the door was unlocked. The bell above the doorway chimed, and Devin’s head popped up from behind the counter. Remus waved – probably a little overenthusiastically – and Devin nearly leapt up, grinning.

“I come bearing muffins,” said Remus, holding up the bag.

“Not orange-cranberry?” Devin asked, cautiously excited.

“Of course,” said Remus, pretending to be offended, “What, you think I’m gonna bring you shitty sub-par muffins? What kind of neighbor do you take me for?”

Devin just giggled at him, hopping up to sit on the counter and make grabby-hands for the pastries.

Remus handed them over with a flourish, leaning on his elbows across the counter and not bothering to control his expression as he watched Devin break off small, dignified little pieces of muffin and pop them in his mouth instead of just taking bites like a normal person.

It was absurdly adorable. Fucking obnoxiously cute. And a little bit nauseating, in a roller coaster-loop kind of way.

Devin made a curious noise in the back of his throat, reaching out to capture Remus’s wrist.

“I’ve seen you without your jacket,” he said absentmindedly, “You have very few tattoos. What’s this one?”

“Kraken,” said Remus, baring the underside of his forearm and trying not to faint at the gentle way Devin was touching him. Remus _had_ lost his jacket for the heat, and his sleeves were rolled up, and Devin’s fingers were calloused and there was dirt under his fingernails and it was _maddeningly_ endearing.

“And this?” said Devin, running his thumb over the lettering near Remus’s elbow.

“Latin,” said Remus, a little strained, “‘ _Si vales, valeo.’_ Roman has the same one,”

“What does it mean?”

“When you are well, I am well,” said Remus, “We did them on each other,”

Devin let out a note that was almost a coo.

“That’s not sweet,” he said softly.

“You got any ink?” asked Remus.

Devin shook his head.

“Yes,” he said, shrugging, “There’s a reason, I just- could think of something to get,”

He was still thumbing at Remus’s arm, the kraken now, and Remus felt a little bit delirious even as Devin seemed totally blasé about the amount of _soft romantic touching going on_ what the _fuck._

“I’ll draw you something,” blurted Remus, “Something- suitably badass and floral,”

Laughing incredulously, Devin shook his head.

“Badass and floral, you don’t say?” he giggled, “Well, not alright then. How could I say no to that?”

Letting his fingers slide down to slip in Remus’s, Devin gave his hand a happy squeeze, and Remus lost his head completely.

Like, Anne Boleyn, Blackbeard, French Revolution lost his head.

Remus’s hand fit perfectly over the curve of Devin’s jaw, and Remus didn’t even realize he’d kissed him until he’d been doing it for… at least six or seven seconds, long enough there was no hope of covering it up or laughing it off. Devin had gone perfectly, _shockingly_ still, and Remus jerked back.

Okay. So _that’s_ what embarrassment felt like. Remus was unfamiliar.

He was not a fan.

“I, uh-” he started, swallowing, “Wow, okay, I have- You might have noticed, but I’ve pretty much never thought anything through once in my life, obviously, so I’m really-”

Devin let out a wild noise, wordless and a little shrill, before making a fist in Remus’s collar and yanking him forward so sharply Remus heard the fabric rip.

Their noses bumped painfully, but Remus was pretty quick on the uptake and if Devin was game Remus was also _so unbelievably game,_ wrapping an arm around Devin’s waist and dragging him forward across the counter until their chests were pressed together.

Devin ran his thumbs across Remus’s jaw, and that was just- just _nice_ , Remus didn’t think anything so soft and unobtrusive _could_ make him so unbelievably happy but here they were, exchanging what was definitely the gentlest kiss Remus had ever had and yet still made him feel like someone had punched all the breath out of his lungs.

Devin pulled away first, breathless and his snake pupil almost perfectly round, smiling so brilliantly Remus almost dragged him right back, but then Devin opened his mouth to speak and-

“That was nice,” he said.

Remus felt the smile slip off his face immediately, and Devin went white as a sheet.

“Oh,” said Remus, feeling distinctly like he wanted to jump off a building in the least fun way possible “Uh- I’m. Sorry?”

He tried to move away, but Devin’s hand gripped suddenly at the shoulder of Remus’s shirt, shaking.

“What the fuck,” he said, quiet and strained.

Wincing, Remus tried to pull back again, but Devin yanked him back, harder this time.

“The- the sky is- is blue,” Devin stuttered.

Remus gaped.

“Your eyes are green,” Devin continued, strangled and hysterical, “I’m Devin. Your name is Remus, you’re wearing a black band t-shirt, what the _fuck-_ ”

He clapped one hand over his own mouth, his eyes flickering down to Remus’s lips.

“So, Double-D,” said Remus, equally choked, “You wanna tell me what the conditions for breaking that curse are?”

“Like you can’t _guess?_ ”

Laying his hand over Devin’s where it was still touching his face, Remus gave him a shaky smile.

“Maybe,” said Remus, “I just wanna hear you say it,”

Devin’s face was so flushed it had even spread to the side with scales, where the skin was thicker and cooler. Remus reached out to drag his knuckles along Devin’s cheek before he could stop himself.

Devin squeaked, and Remus grinned at him.

“So?” he prodded.

Swallowing thickly, Devin blew out a long breath.

“Jackass,” he muttered, “It’s-”

He trailed off, grumbling.

“What? I can’t hear you-”

“You _asshole,_ it’s true love!” said Devin, socking him in the arm, “It’s true love’s first kiss and I _know_ you know that, you’re just _picking_ on me, you ridiculous compost heap of a man-”

“Ooh, keep talking dirty to me-” Remus teased.

Devin finally let go of Remus’s face to cover his own and let out a stream of garbled nonsense. Remus was smiling so wide his cheeks were starting to ache.

True love. Soppy, mushy-gushy gooey shit. Remus had made a point as a teenager to find as many testimonies of non-romantic true love kisses as possible – mothers with their children, best friends, siblings. He’d been pretty comfortably certain if he ever needed one he could probably just drop one on top of Roman’s head and be fine, but he’d never thought of it past that.

This, though – this wasn’t so bad.

Except- well, Devin was actually frowning now, prodding at his own face, which was, as far as Remus was concerned, totally unacceptable.

“What’s wrong?”

Devin gave him an incredulous look.

“What do you mean, what’s wrong?” he said, “My face,”

“What?” said Remus, baffled, “What are you talking about? Your face is as stupidly, absurdly perfect as always,”

Devin made another of those incomprehensible noises that were quickly becoming one of Remus’s favorites.

“The _scales,_ ” said Devin, “I- the curse is broken. Or- I thought it was, I’m saying all- all kinds of true things. Why do I still have scales?”

“Oh,” said Remus, “No clue. I mean, I’m not exactly complaining,”

“Be serious,” said Devin, frowning.

Remus frowned right back.

“You’re kidding,” he deadpanned, “I haven’t exactly been _subtle,_ D,”

“ _Subtle?”_

“Uh, _yeah?_ ” said Remus, “About the fact that you look like you were gilded with fourteen karat green gold? Or bronze, maybe, who the fuck knows. And that I kind of want to lick you-”

Devin squeaked again.

“-in the most non-skeezy romantic way possible, which, _believe me_ , is the most surprising part. The romantic bit, I mean, not that I want to lick you. That’s actually pretty predictable,”

“Please stop talking before I _combust_ ,”

“Seriously, you’re so- you’re so fucking pretty,” said Remus, a little strangled, “It’s kind of insane, actually,”

Devin gave Remus a searching look, clearly watching his face for any sign of joke, which Remus thought was also kind of insane. He didn’t think he’d ever been serious in his life.

And then Devin’s face cleaved into a smile so bright Remus thought abruptly of the game he and Roman used to play as kids where they’d see who could stare at the sun the longest – headache-inducing and leaving bright spots of color behind when he blinked.

“Sweet singing _Melpomene_ , you’ve gotta stop,” said Remus, “I’m gonna get brain damage. I’m gonna literally actually croak from radiation poisoning because I’m pretty sure your face legally qualifies as a nuclear reactor,”

“Did you just call me ‘Sunshine’ in the most you way possible?” said Devin, the smile softening.

“Ah, fuck, I did,” said Remus, wrinkling his nose, “Gross. Look at you, you’ve made me a sap,”

Devin reached out to fiddle with a lock of Remus’s hair, and for a hot second Remus was _almost_ positive he was going to vomit all his internal organs.

“Did you know,” said Devin, “That the sap of the manchineel tree is so toxic even one raindrop that’s touched one leaf can give you blisters?”

Swooping forward, Remus planted another, much more enthusiastic kiss on Devin’s lips.

“ _Where-_ have you been- all my life?” said Remus, planting dumb gross tiny kisses all over Devin’s face in between the words.

“Oh, just waiting right here, you know how it is,” said Devin. Remus got the feeling he’d meant it to be a joke, but it came out way too earnest to count.

“Thank you for waiting,” said Remus, also way too seriously and well! This was his life now, apparently!

He should probably be horrified, but Remus couldn’t muster up anything but pearl dust and pink salt, rose petals and green gold.

Oh well. He did, after all, have a suitably badass and floral tattoo to design.

**Author's Note:**

> i am also over on [tumblr!](tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors.tumblr.com)


End file.
